My Name Is Kathy
by OffenceTaken
Summary: Kathy is your typical greaser girl, wears short skirts, a lot of make-up and cusses more than she should. She thinks Tulsa is going to be great, considering she'll no longer be known as 'Jack's little sister'.


**This takes place Post-Book. Big thanks to EternalBookworm, I do not own anything. Only the plot.**

I slid my fingers across the gold embossed lettering on the cover of my favorite book, Treasure Island, as I stared out the window of the old '57 Chevy. It is a fairly decent car, it runs well, but if this is the one my brother, Jack, will be driving me around in, then I'll have to get my license really quick and buy a better car, like that red Camaro in front of us. The Chevy is actually our parents', but they told my brother to drive around town with me so they could properly move in. I love our new house, I must say, it is big, at least bigger than the one back in Oklahoma City. The one back home was so small, I mean I had to sleep in the storage closet because the other room was for Jack. The new house blue with the doors and windows painted white, but the thing about our house I like the most is the backyard, a huge, open space where I could read and write. Otherwise, I did not see much of the rest of the house.

I pressed my face against the window and watched my brother as he drummed his fingers to the beat of the song on the radio. I was not sure which song it was but I think it was by Elvis. I hoped that he would not start singing, by doing that he would already ruin my social life before I even start one. Do not get me wrong, I like my brother a lot, but in my opinion, I think it is safe to say he is not going to be the next Buddy Holly any time soon.

"Hey Kathy," he began, cutting into my thoughts; "School not gonna be a problem?"

As much as I love my brother, he can be pretty overprotective. I threw him my best smile and giggled, "School? Problem? You should be worried about yourself!"

It is true, Jack tends to get into fights more than a little. He has that fiery temper he inherited from my father, the one that no one should mess with. I will be surprised if I do not get a date that has not experienced the wrath of Jack Hyman. No guy, according to him, is ever good enough for me. When I stopped giggling, he shot me a look that clearly meant: Mind your own business. He can be weird that way.

We were at the end of the Main Street when we reached our destination; Jack pulled into an empty parking space and cut the engine. "We are here, Queenie," he teased me, "The mall."

"Thank you, Butler," I replied in my 'Queenie' voice, "You gonna open the door for me?"

He threw me his usual cheeky smile and hopped out of the Chevy and rushed to open my door. "Thank you,"

I walked with him towards the mall, a place alive with people, all young and old. Jack head for a display window and looked at his reflection, pulling out a comb. I rolled my eyes as he pulled the comb through his hair and slicking it as far back as he could. I would have made a smart remark, but I did not when two teenage boys, around my age passed by in a black Corvette and hollered, "Greaser!"

Jack snapped up and tucked the comb back in his pocket and his eyes sparked with anger. He hates it when people call him names. Before I could stop him, he snarls and flips them the bird. "Come out of your car and say it over here!"

"Thanks, but no thanks; I already had my share of dirt," the driver called back, "From beating the tar out of greasers like you."

"Jack, it isn't worth it," I try telling him, grabbing his arm, "They're just rich-boys looking for someone to beat up."

He shrugged me off, drawing nearer to the fancy car. I told him to come back, luckily the rich-boys started to drive off, cackling. I hissed at my brother to come back again and he obeyed. "Just bring me shopping," I asked him, almost begging, "I'm sure they won't bother us again."

He quietly followed me as I walked in and out of stores looking for things affordable; I was looking at a nice, yellow skirt that fitted nice. I was hoping I could bribe Jack into buying it, but he was not around for me to ask anything at all. I was then hoping that he did not go after the rich-boys. Fortunately, somewhat, he was not. Instead he was with the skin magazines. He flipped through them, smiling and chuckling at himself. I quietly watched him, he obviously did not notice me so I made out a quiet 'Ahem' and he looked up.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Suppose to be looking at those?" I inquired, looking at him innocently.

"How's it your business?" He curtly replied.

I pulled the magazine from his hands and replaced it. I held up the yellow skirt. "Gonna buy it for me?" I requested, when he was about to shake his head, I quickly added: "Or were you saving your money for those magazines you're planning to buy for Ma?"

He cussed at me and started mumbling about something along the lines of 'you little rat' as he dug the money from his pocket and handed me the cash. I gave him a peck on the cheek and walked over to the counter to purchase the item. The cashier handed me the change of 23 cents and I thanked him.

Returning to my brother, he was casually watching another teenage boy from the hardware store across from the clothing store I am at. This kid was probably more Jack's age, but he was much taller (Jack only stands at 5 foot 9) and was a greaser, like my brother and I. I do not like to be labeled a greaser, but I am poorer than the middle-class and I tend to sub-consciously act like one, such as wearing a lot of makeup and I let myself swear a little too much.

This boy I could tell was up to something, he was avoiding suspicion by walking around the store, looking interested at things as dull and uninteresting like rat poison. From Jack's endless days of shoplifting, I knew a lot about it. "Watch this dude," Jack sneered, "He's really thinks he'll be able to do it."

I shook my head; Jack has swiped more packs of cigarettes than there is days to a year. He calls himself a professional. I call him an idiot. As Jack started lighting a cigarette, I looked back at the greaser, I could tell he had accomplished his goal, he was emerging from the store, looking smug.

"I guess amateurs can do it too." I tell Jack as he blew a perfect smoke ring. His cheek twitched, he does not like being proven wrong.

"Whatever," he led me out of the store and towards the record store, "There's an Elvis record that's been calling my name."

We spent an hour going through records. I am no fan of Elvis, but my brother likes him as much as any kid his age does. Back in Oklahoma City there was a small café he worked at where he would play Elvis all the time. My friends and I hung around there, since all of them had crushes on my Casanova of a brother. They would coo over his brilliant blue eyes, his perfectly greased black hair, and his handsome shifty good-looks. I personally think I had spent enough time living with him to spend free friend time with him. I found it so sad how badly my best friend, Louisa, crushed on him. Too bad he was terribly in love with Jennifer Colman, and still keeps in contact with her when we had moved.

Another disadvantage of having a 'charming' brother is the fact I am commonly known as 'Jack's little sister'. I have been 'Jack's little sister' for all my fifteen years. Guys would only talk to me to find out if Jack is going to the football practice. My brother does not let the fact that he is a greaser get in the way of making friends in both classes. He is just too likeable once you get to know him. Though I cannot say much about his choice in women.

A good thing about moving is that I have shed myself from the title 'Jack's little sister' into just plain Kathy Hyman. Kathy: the girl who will get any guy she wants. I scorned myself for sounding like a conceited snob. Well slut is more like it. I guess that was the greaser girl part of me talking.

The rest of the day we continue to hang around the city, exploring the restaurants, stores and teenage hang-outs. I must admit, I am starting to fall in love with Tulsa. Oklahoma City was so much rougher; my parents did not let us go out often, due to the rough neighborhood we lived in. I took note of people not to hang with, like the types of girls guys actually walked up to and start cussing them out. Jack paid no sort of attention like that, he had enough of Tulsa. He liked our old house so much; he had so many friends back there. He does not like to make new friends.

It was growing dark and Jack declined my offer for going out to a movie, instead he drove me back home. My parents were done packing and I could tell they were exhausted. I found my new room to be quite tasteful and comfortable, it has bright blue walls and Ma had fitted in a bed with matching sheets. Tulsa was so exciting, Oklahoma City was dull and the only excitement you would get was from all the kids who get arrested for throwing beer blasts and breaking things. Those stories were getting very old. But not only that, I will shed the title of 'Jack's little sister' and now I am Kathy Hyman.


End file.
